


The price of a day

by Darkerchild



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkerchild/pseuds/Darkerchild
Summary: How the Doctor held off his regeneration for so long in The Doctor Falls. Warning for descriptions of injury and assault.





	The price of a day

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the prompt nonny

Time felt thin and stretched, like it was a band of taffy being pulled between some laughing child’s teeth. The Doctor could feel the wrongness of it buzzing through him as the ship smashed upwards through floors and centuries. Nardole was saying something, but it was drowned out by the Master and Missy whooping and laughing:

“He’s dead, or he will be in a minute, upwards and onward!”

“Oooo, that was a good bit of turbulence. I think we did fifty years in one jump.”

“You know, we spent all that time thinking about appropriate deaths, but ‘deep fried’ never crossed my mind, even with the accent.”

The Doctor could sense Bill, or the thing that had been Bill – that he desperately hoped was still Bill – standing over him. He wanted to keep telling her that everything would be alright. He wasn’t certain how he would fix this, but he knew that he would, somehow. He had to. But it was so hard to speak or keep his eyes open. Consciousness had become a jerky stop-motion picture as he faded back and forth from almost awake, to not-quite-dead. With the ship crashing ever upwards through more and more layers of gravity-distorted time, the Doctor wasn’t certain how long the gaps were.

Minutes? Hours? Days?

He had a brief impression of fire, and pain (there was always pain), and smoke, and one of Nardole’s high-pitched screams.

When he woke up again, time felt calmer. Still wrong, but he was no longer moving through that wrongness. He was on his side in recovery position, on top of a fully made bed. He creaked his eyes open and saw a rustic bedroom. There was a beeswax candle burning on the dresser, but the edge of light peeking around the side of the handmade curtains told the Doctor it was probably close to noon outside. Artificial noon anyway, because he was still on the spaceship. He could feel the faint vibrations of the engines.

The Master was sitting on a chair by his bedside, obviously waiting for him to move and signal his return to the world of the living. The Doctor ignored him.

He hurt, but the Doctor was good at compartmentalizing pain and looking at it rationally. He did a quick survey of his injuries. It wasn’t hopeful. Getting a high voltage hug from a Cyberman was never a picnic, and he hadn’t exactly been in top condition to begin with after his walk outside at Chasm Forge and subsequent six months on a prison ship with the Monks. Never mind the beating he'd been given by Missy and the Master. He could feel open wounds on his left side, on his palms, and the soles of his feet, but the internal path of the current had done far more serious damage. It had cracked bone in his leg and nearly destroyed his left heart. His lungs were working at forty percent efficiency. Frankly, he wasn’t certain why he wasn’t dead.

He felt a tickle of regeneration energy creeping along his fingertips. He quickly repressed it. He was alive, somehow, and he needed to remain sane and stable long enough to save Bill. If she was still alive, then she was hanging on by a thread. She needed familiar faces to keep her anchored. Regenerating would ruin everything.

Dying would be worse.

The Doctor groaned.

“Finally!” The Master said. “You don’t know how tedious it is to watch someone pretend to be unconscious.”

‘Where’s Bill?” the Doctor asked. His lips cracked at his spoke. He needed water. He wasn’t certain he’d been able to keep it down. The Master was rolling his eyes.

“I should have known that would be the first thing you said. Instead, of, for example, ‘thank you’.”

“Where is she.” He got more volume on that attempt.

“I know and you don’t know,” the Master sing-songed.

“Tell me where she is!” the Doctor shouted, attempting to pull himself into a sitting position. His arms gave out almost immediately.

“I wouldn’t do that,” the Master said. He stood up and leaned over the Doctor, gently pressing his cheek against the bed cover. He intertwined his fingers in the Doctor's hair. The Doctor panted and tried to pull away, but his body wasn’t responding properly.

“You should be dead, you know,” the Master said, caressing his hands down the length of the Doctor’s prone body. “I had an argument with myself about saving you, but we both decided that it would be no fun at all for you to die while you were unconscious. We both wanted to watch you experiencing it. So, I donated thirty minutes of regeneration energy, and _I_ – ” the Master tilted his head sideways and raised the pitch of his voice “ – was apparently feeling sentimental enough to give you nearly half a day’s worth. Though I have no idea why, since your current body is literally toast and you aren’t making any effort to change into a new one.”

“Bill…”

“Your human-shaped tin can is in the barn. Your robot butler is trying to convince the local population not to pitchfork her. And my future self is enjoying a honey-based alcoholic beverage on the porch while trying to calculate a plan to save us all from the angry death machines at the bottom of this spaceship. Any questions?”

The Doctor took as deep a breath as his tortured lungs would allow.

“What do you want?”

“That’s a very good question." the Master rubbed the back of his head. "I have no idea what the other me wants, but I know that I want to watch you suffer. More than that, I want you to beg me to hurt you. I want to debase and humiliate you over and over again.”

‘“You’ve already done that. I remember a year –”

“That never was,” the Master finished for him, waving a hand dismissively. “And that was _fun_ , but this time it will be better because you won’t be in a cage. You’re going to ask me, willingly, to do whatever I want. Because –” the Master brushed his lips against the edge of the Doctor’s ear and whispered, “ – I know why you’re not regenerating.”

The Doctor swallowed, trying hard to repress a shudder. He could feel fear, like ice, spreading across his body. The Master was right. He was trapped. He would do anything to save his companion. The distant hum of the ship’s engines suddenly sounded more like the buzz of flies on a dead woman’s shroud. The Master unbuttoned his shirt and placed a splayed hand across the Doctor’s bare chest.

“I doubt I could fully heal you even if I wanted to, but if you’re going to insist on staying extra crispy, I can maintain it for some time. I have some experience with keeping bodies alive past their best before date. Who knows, I may even get an entire year out of you.”

“Do it then,” the Doctor said.

The Master removed his hand from the Doctor’s chest and placed it lower, cupping the shape of the Doctor’s cock through his trousers.

“Not that way. Besides, I told you that I wanted you to beg for it.”

The Doctor closed his eyes and grimaced. He thought of Bill. Her intelligence, and vibrancy, and the way she smiled when she didn’t understand, because she was one of the few humans he’d ever met who truly understood that not knowing everything was part of the fun of being alive. He thought of that spark shut away behind an expressionless metal face. Suffocated.

He gritted his teeth and gave up his pride. Pride was such a stupid, useless, insignificant thing after all. Bill needed it more than he did.

“Please, Master, do whatever you like with me.”

“Music to my ears!” the Master said, smiling, and his smile was nothing, _nothing_ like Bill’s. He pressed down viciously against the Doctor’s balls. “Say it again.”

“Please, Master, do whatever you like with me.” The fear was still there, and the Doctor knew from the joy in the Master's expression that it was coming through in his voice, but there was also rage bubbling up underneath it. He had to keep it contained. It wouldn't help. It wouldn't save Bill's life.

“This really is a magical moment for me,” the Master said, unzipping the Doctor’s fly. “I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am. There are so many things I’m going to do to you, and all with your full consent. Say it again.”

The Doctor swallowed hard. It would be so easy for him to say the Master's words sarcastically. To flip them around and turn them into an insult. He had to fight against that impulse, against the fear and the anger. He had to do this properly to get what he needed.

“Please, Master, do whatever you like with me.”

The Master roughly pulled off the Doctor’s trousers and re-arranged his limp body on the bed so that he could crouch between the Doctor’s spread legs. He licked the underside of the Doctor’s cock and giggled. “Say it again.”

The Doctor did.

The Master lay down a line of kisses and bites, starting from the silver hair at the root of the Doctor’s cock and working his way up the Doctor’s burnt stomach and chest to his lips. The Master fingered him, first gently, then roughly, thrusting three fingers in and out of the Doctor’s hole with wild abandon. The Doctor repeated the Master’s desired mantra over and over again, while trying to detach himself from the presesnt and think of Bill. He was doing all of this for Bill.

“Ah ah ah,” the Master said, slapping his cheeks gently. “You need to stay with me. No running away. That’s the deal. Now say it again, this time like you actually mean it.”

“Master… Please…” He felt moisture on his cheek. “Anything…”

“As you wish,” said the Master, removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock. He fed the Doctor tiny spurts of regeneration energy as he slammed into him. Just enough to keep him alive and conscious. Just enough to keep the Doctor saying yes and asking for more abuse. He could feel the Master's fingers griping the sides of his hips. Fingernails sinking in. He would pull almost all the way out before thrusting back in, balls-deep, again and again.

“Please… Master…”

The Master came. The Doctor felt the heat of it in his gut. He closed his eyes as the Master withdrew. A moment later he felt the hot weight of the Master’s cock on his lips.

“Clean me off.”

“Yes, Master,” the Doctor said, struggling to complete the task. His mouth was too dry. His tongue felt thick. The Master sighed and withdrew his cock from the Doctor’s mouth and wiped it off on his chin.

“I suppose that was too much to ask of you in your current condition.” He rested one hand on the Doctor’s chest and let out a controlled burst of regeneration energy, more sustaining than anything he’d given so far. It felt like being shot by a Dalek. There were ways to make this kind of transfer painless, but the Master wasn’t bothering with any of them. The Doctor hadn’t expected him to. He felt the fire enveloping the worst of his internal injuries and patching them. Not exacting healing, but scabbing them over to keep him alive.

The Master backed off, leaving the Doctor gasping on the bed.

“That should be enough to get you up and about for a few hours. Same time tomorrow good for you?”

The Doctor clenched his fists and did his best to center himself.

“Yes, Master, whatever time is most convenient for you.”  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
